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Book of Scottish Story
Mauns' Stane; or, Mine Host's Tale


In the latter end of the autumn of -------, I set out by myself on an excursion over the northern part of Scotland; and, during that time, my chief amusement was to observe the little changes of manners, language, &c, in the different districts. After having viewed, on my return, the principal curiosities in Buchan, I made a little alehouse, or "public," my head-quarters for the night. Having discussed my supper in solitude, I called up mine host to enable me to discuss my bottle, and to give me a statistical account of the country around me. Seated in the "blue" end, and well supplied with the homely but satisfying luxuries which the place afforded, I was in an excellent mood for enjoying the communicativeness of my landlord ; and, after speaking about the cave at Slaines, the state of the crop, and the neighbouring franklins, edged him, by degrees, to speak about the Abbey of Deer, an interesting ruin which I had examined in the course of the day, formerly the stronghold of the once powerful family of Cummin.

"It's dootless a bonny place about the Abbey," said he, "but naething like what it was when the great Sir James the Rose cam to hide i' the Buchan woods, wi' a' the Grahames rampagin' at his tail, whilk you that's a beuk learned man 'ill hae read o'; an' maybe ye'll hae heard o' the saughen bush where he forgathered wi' his joe; or aiblins ye may have seen't, for it's standing yet just at the corner o' gaukit Jamie Jamieson's peat-stack. Ay, ay, the abbey was a brave place ance; but a' thing, ye ken, comes till an end." So saying, he nodded to me, and brought his glass to an end.

"This place, then, must have been famed in days of yore, my friend?"

"Ye may tak my word for that," said he. "'Od, it was a place ! Sic a sight o' fechtin' as they had about it! But gin ye'll gang up the trap-stair to the laft, an' open Jenny's kist, ye'll see sic a story about it, prented by ane o' your learned Aberdeen's fouk, Maister Keith, I think; she coft it in Aberdeen for twal pennies, lang ago, an' battered it to the lid o' her kist. But gang up the stair canny, for fear that you should wauken her, puir thing;—or, bide, I'll just wauken Jamie Fleep, an' gar him help me down wi't, for our stair's no just that canny for them 't's no acquaint wi't, let alane a frail man wi' your infirmity."

I assured him that I would neither disturb the young lady's slumber, nor Jamie Fleep's, and begged him to give me as much information as he could about this castle.

"Weel, wishin' your gude health again.— Our minister ance said, that Soloman's Temple was a' in ruins, wi' whin bushes, an' broom an' thristles growin' ower the bonny carved wark an' the cedar wa's, just like our ain Abbey. Noo, I judge that the Abbey o' Deer was just the marrow o't, or the minister wadna hae said that. But when it was biggit, Lord kens, for I dinna. It was just as you see it, lang afore your honour was born ; an' aib-lins, as the by-word says, may be sae after ye're hanged. But that's neither here nor there. The Cummins o' Buchan were a dour and surly race; and, for a fearfu' time; nane near han' nor far awa could ding them, an' yet mony a ane tried it. The fouk on their ain Ian' likit them wee! enough; but the Crawfords, an' the Grahames, an' the Mars, an' the Lovats, were aye trying to comb them against the hair, an' mony a weary kempin' had they wi' them; but, some way or ither, they could never ding them; an' fouk said that they gaed and learned the black art frae the Pope o' Room, wha, I mysel heard the minister say, had aye a colleague wi' the Auld Chiel. I dinna ken fou it was; in the tail o' the day, the hale country rase up against them, an' besieged them in the Abbey o' Deer. Ye'll see, my frien' [by this time mine host considered me as one of his cronies], tho' we ca' it the Abbey, it had naething to do wi' Papistry; na, na, no sae bad as a' that either, but just a noble's castle, where they keepit sodgers gaun about in airn an' scarlet, wi' their swords an' guns, an' begnets, an' sentry-boxes, like the local militia in the barracks o' Aberdeen.

"Weel, ye see, they surrounded the castle, an' lang did they besiege it; but there was a vast o' meat in the castle, an' the Buchan fouk fought like the vera deil. They took their horse through a miscellaneous passage, half a mile long, aneath the hill o' Saplinbrae, an' watered them in the burn o' Pulmer. But a' wadna do; they took the castle at last, and a terrible slaughter their made amo' them; but they were sair disappointed in ae partic'ler, for Cummin's fouk sank a' their goud an' siller in a draw-wall, an' syne filled it up wi' stanes. They gat naething in the way of spulzie to speak o'; sae out o' spite they dang doon the castle, an' its never been biggit to this day. But the Cummins were no sae bad as the Lairds o' Federal, after a'."

"And who were these Federats?" I inquired.

"The Lairds o' Federat?" said he, moistening his mouth again as a preamble to his oration. "Troth, frae their deeds, ane would maist think that they had a drap o' the deil's blude, like the pyets. Gin a' tales be true, they hae the warmest place at his bink this vera minute. I dinna ken vera muckle about them though, but the auldest fouk said they were just byous wi' cruelty. Mony a gude man did they hing up i' their ha', just for their ain sport; ye'll see the ring to the fore yet in the roof o't. Did ye ever hear o' Mauns' Stane, neebour?"

"Mauns' what?" said I.

"Ou, Mauns' Stane. But it's no likely. Ye see it was just a queer clump o' a roun'-about heathen, wagh-lin' maybe twa tons or thereby. It wasna like ony o' the stanes in our countra, an' it was as roun' as a fit-ba'; I'm sure it wad ding Professor Couplan himsel to tell what way it cam there. Noo, fouk aye thought there was something uncanny about it, an' some gaed the length o' saying, that the deil used to bake-ginshbread upon't; and, as sure as ye're sitting there, frien', there was knuckle-marks upon't, for my ain father has seen them as aften as I have taes an' fingers. Aweel, ye see, Mauns Crawford, the last o' the Lairds o' Federat, an' the deil had coost out (maybe because the Laird was just as wicked an' as clever as he was himsel), an' ye perceive the evil ane wantit to play him a trick. Noo, Mauns Crawford was ae day lookin' ower his castle wa' and he saw a stalwart carl, in black claes, ridin' up the loanin'. He stopped at this chuckie o' a stane, an', loutin' himsel, he took it up in his arms, and lifted it three times to his saddle-bow, an' syne he rade awa out o' sight, never comin' near the castle, as Mauns thought he would hae done. 'Noo,' says the baron till himsel, says he, 'I didna think that there was ony ane in a' the land that could hae played sic a ploy; but deil fetch me if I dinna lift it as weel as he did.' Sae aff he gaed, for there was na sic a man for birr in a' the countra, an' he kent it as weel, for he never met wi' his match. Weel. he tried, and tugged, and better than tugged at the stane, but he coudna mudge it ava ; an', when he looked about, he saw a man at his elbuck, a' smeared wi smiddy-coom, snightern' an' laughin' at him." The Laird d-------d him, an' bade him lift it. whilk he did as gin't had been a little pinnin. The Laird was like to burst wi' rage at being fick-led by sic a hag-ma-hush carle, and he took to the stane in a fury, and lifted it till his knee; but the weight o't amaist ground his banes to smash. He held the stane till his een-strings crack it, when he was as blin' as a moudiwort. He was blin' till the day o' his death,— that's to say, if ever he died, for there were queer sayings about it—vera queer! vera queer! The stane was ca'd Mauns' Stane ever after; an' it was no thought that canny to be near it after gloaming; for what says the psalm— hem!—I mean the sang -

Tween Ennetbutts an' Mauns' Stane
Ilka night there walks ane.

"There never was a chief of the family after ; the men were scattered, an' the castle demolished. The doo and the hoodie craw nestle i' their towers, and the hare maks her form on their grassy hearthstane."

"Is this stone still to be seen?"

"Ou na. Ye see, it was just upon Johnie Forbes's craft, an' fouk cam far an' near to leuk at it, an' trampit down a' the puir cottar body's corn; sae he houkit a hole just aside it, an' tumbled it intil't: by that means naebody sees't noo, but its weel kent that it's there, for they're livin' yet wha've seen it."

"But the well at the Abbey—did no one feel a desire to enrich himself with the gold and silver buried there?"

"Hoot, ay; mony a ane tried to find out whaur it was, and, for that matter, I've maybe done as foolish a thing mysel; but nane ever made it out. There was a scholar, like yoursel, that gaed ae night down to the Abbey, an', ye see. he summoned up the deft"

"The deuce he did!" said I.

"Weel, weel, the deuce, gin ye like it better," said he. "An' he was gaun to question him where the treasure was, but he had eneugh to do to get him laid without deaving him wi' questions, for a' the deils cam about him, ' like bees bizzin' out o' a byke. He never coured the fright he gat, but cried out, ' Help! help!' till his very enemy wad hae been wae to see him ; and sae he cried till he died, which was no that lang after. Fouk sudna meddle wi' sic ploys !"

"Most wonderful! And do you believe that Beelzebub actually appeared to him?"

"Believe it! What for no?" said he, consequentially tapping the lid of his snuff-horn. "Didna my ain father see the evil ane i' the schule o' Auld Deer?"

"Indeed!"

"Weel I wot he did that. A wheen idle callants, when the dominie was out at his twal-hours, read the Lord's Prayer backlans, an' raised him, but coudna lay him again; for he threepit ower them that he wadna gang awa unless he gat ane o' them wi' him. Ye may be sure this put them in an awfu' swither. They were a' squallin', an' crawlin', and sprawlin' amo' the couples to get out o' his grips. Ane o' them gat out an' tauld the maister about it; an' when he cam down, the melted lead was rinnin' aff the roof o' the house wi' the heat; sae, flingin' to the Black Thief a young bit kittlen o' the schule-mistress's, he sank through the floor wi' an awsome roar. I mysel have heard the mistress misca'in' her man about offering up the puir thing, baith saul and body, to Baal. But. troth, I'm no clear to speak o' the like o' this at sic a time o' night; sae, if your honour be na for anither jug, I'll e'en wus you a gude night, for its wear-in' late, an' I maun awa to Skippyfair i' the mornin'."

I assented to this, and quickly lost in sleep the remembrance of all these tales of the olden time. — Aberdeen Censor, 1823.


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